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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052335">Little Soldier, Little Insect</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_fangirl/pseuds/pro_fangirl'>pro_fangirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Sam and Andrew Chronicles [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Foyle's War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, But in a bus this time, Cloud Watching, Dialogue Heavy, Friendship, Heavy topics, I'm quickly learning that these stories have little plot, Just lots of dialogue, Letters, More serious talks, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resolution, Serious talks during car rides, Soldiers, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:01:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_fangirl/pseuds/pro_fangirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The empty hall echoed with the sounds of lost souls. He didn’t pause as he walked through it, heading towards the rooms in the back, but it was almost as if he could still hear the tapping of dancing feet and the swinging tune of music that had long since gone silent. It was the sound of ghosts.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>It's been a few months since the end of the war in Europe and Joe Farnetti has returned to England.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andrew Foyle &amp; Sam Stewart, Joe Farnetti/Sam Stewart, Sam Stewart &amp; Adam Wainwright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Sam and Andrew Chronicles [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set between 6x02 and 6x03. </p>
<p>Possible Trigger Warning: I don't know how deep this story is going to get into talking about PTSD, but it will talk about it somewhat in period-typical fashion (meaning the word PTSD won't ever be spoken since this is the 40s and they didn't know about it yet, but the symptoms will still be there). It's probably not going to get super dark, but just be careful.</p>
<p>Title taken from No One Would Riot for Less by Bright Eyes. </p>
<p>A note about the point system mentioned: After the war in Europe was over, a point system was set up to send some soldiers home in an orderly fashion. Soldiers had to have 85 points in order to go home and not fight in the Pacific. Points were gained from various things, such as time served, if a soldier had received any medals, if they had children at home, etc. In this story, Joe has earned enough points to go home, but, as many soldiers did in real life, has chosen to stay.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> July 1945 </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The empty hall echoed with the sounds of lost souls. He didn’t pause as he walked through it, heading towards the rooms in the back, but it was almost as if he could still hear the tapping of dancing feet and the swinging tune of music that had long since gone silent. It was the sound of ghosts. He was glad when he reached his room and could close the door. The silence only lasted for a mere moment. As soon as he had thrown his bag on the bed, the door opened again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So this is where you stayed when you first got here, huh?” a young replacement (What was his name? Tommy? The boy had been with them for almost two months now and Joe still didn’t know his name.) asked, grinning as he too tossed his bag on the bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I guess, yeah.” He shrugged as he moved to lie down on the bed. He waved a hand toward the door. “Shut the door, will yah?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right.” The replacement moved toward the door, only to hurriedly step back as two more guys entered. They shut the door behind them and the replacement made an awkward-half turn, so he was looking at Joe. Joe closed his eyes in warning that he was not in the mood to talk right now, but it seemed to have no affect. The replacement spoke up again. “I heard some of the other men talking earlier. Did a girl really get murdered here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mhm, she died right where you’re standing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He cracked his eyes open just in time to see the replacement jump and hurriedly move away from the spot. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another one of the men laughed. “Take it easy, Thomas. She died in your <em> bed </em>, not on the floor.”</p>
<p><br/><br/>The rest of the men chuckled and went back to what they were doing as Thomas (so that was his name) nervously twisted his hands together and stepped casually away from his bed. “So you guys built that airway we passed. Didn’t the owner object though?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joe sighed. “I’m not in the mood for talking,” he said. “Just leave me alone.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whether the replacement intended to wisely shut his mouth or to keep talking, Joe never found out because one of his friends Johnny opened the door and called his name, guestering for him to come, and so, heaving a sigh, he sat up and brushed past the replacement, closing the door sharply behind him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah?” he asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny pointed his thumb behind him, toward the main door. “Captain wants to see you.” He clapped Joe on the back as he headed to his own room. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Captain Edwards was indeed waiting for him outside the door. He snapped to attention and then relaxed when the “at ease” command was given. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You wanted to see me, sir?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, Farnetti. You were one of the original men of this battalion, correct?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, sir.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So you’ve been in combat for how long? Two years? Three?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Three years this November.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s quite a long time. You started as a private, correct?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, sir.” What were all these questions about? Edwards knew this. Sure, he’d been a transfer after Captain Keiffer had gotten promoted and their second captain had taken a piece of shrapnel to the brain in Italy, but he’d still been with them for over a year. He knew all this about Joe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well you climbed the ranks quite nicely. Started a private and ended up with a battlefield commission to second lieutenant. Nice work, Farnetti. Not to mention you’ve earned yourself two purple hearts and a bronze star.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sir, with all due respect, why are we talking about this?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Edwards didn’t answer the question. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes. “Want one?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sure, if you don’t mind, sir.”</p>
<p><br/><br/>Edwards handed him one and offered his light. “Not at all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Now,” said, after both his and Joe’s cigarettes had been lit, “to answer your reasonable question, I’m talking about this because I’m hoping to show you that you’ve done enough. You have enough points, Joe. Why go and fight in the Pacific? Why not go home? You certainly deserve it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other, slightly uncomfortable under Edwards’s dissecting gaze, “I feel I have more I can offer our country. And, well, I had a cousin who fought over there. He got killed at Tarawa. I want to honor his memory, sir.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Edwards drew on his cigarette before replying. “Hmm,” he said, “I suppose you’ve got a point. But that doesn’t dismiss the fact that you’ve done a lot since you enlisted, and I strongly suggest going home.” He took another draw off his cigarette before continuing. “I’m going to grant you a seventy-two hour pass. I want you to go get some sleep and some hot food while you think it over. If you still want to go and fight the Japs when you come back, I won’t stop you, but you have to promise me that you’ll sincerely think about it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sir, I’ll think about it, but I can think about it just as well here as somewhere else. You should give the pass to someone else. Many other men have done just as much as I have.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Edwards shook his head. “I won’t hear of it otherwise, Farnetti. You look worn to the bone. Go into town. Get yourself a nice room for a couple nights. Sleep all day if you want to, I don’t care. Just take care of yourself for a couple days, and when you come back I promise to not try to change your mind about whatever you’ve decided concerning Japan.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you, sir.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your welcome. Now I don’t want to see you around here until Tuesday, you understand me?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, sir.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Very well.” When Joe didn’t move, he waved a hand in dismissal. “Off you go then.”</p>
<p><br/><br/>Joe snapped to attention, and then returned inside. Johnny was sitting on his bed when he returned to his room. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’d Edwards want?” Johnny asked, reaching forward to try to grab Joe’s cigarette who moved his hand out of Johnny’s reach. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“First he tried to convince me to not go fight in the Pacific. Then when that didn’t work, he gave me a seventy-two hour pass to think things over. Told me he didn’t want to see me for a few days.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, that was nice of him. He didn’t by chance happen to give you another cigarette, did he?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, he didn’t. And you’re not getting this one, so don’t even ask.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny shrugged. “It was worth a shot. Anyways, got yourself a pass. What’re you going to do with it?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joe sat down on the bed, making sure to keep his cigarette far away from Johnny’s hands. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing to do really. Probably just sleep. Eat something that’s not made up of C-rations.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not going to see that pretty girl of yours?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Who</em>?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That Stewart girl. The one you danced with.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, her.” Joe took a moment to watch the smoke from his cigarette curl up and then fade into the air. “Nah. Don’t think I’ll see her. She’s not my girl anymore, remember? Turned me down. Probably a good decision on her part.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well maybe she just wasn’t ready yet. You should go see her again. I bet she missed you. Maybe you two can work something out. There’s no time like the present.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll see.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny laughed. “Never could get a straight answer out of you could I? Unless I wanted your cigarette. Then it was always a hard no.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Still is.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny laughed again and clapped him on the back. “Better get out of here before Edwards chases you out.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah.” He stood up and took one last draw off the cigarette before holding it out in offering. “You can finish it off if you’d like.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Johnny took it eagerly. “Thank you, Joe. You’re a real pal, you know.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He chuckled to himself, as he grabbed his unpacked bag and slung it over his shoulder. “See you, Johnny.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah. Bring me back some good food, would yah. Like a chicken or something.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smiled. As if he could find a chicken, much less smuggle it back onto the base. Rationing was as tight in England as it was everywhere. Nevertheless, he called over his shoulder as he went to close the door, “I’ll do my best.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He passed through the hall just as quickly as he had the first time. Now was not the time to be thinking of ghosts. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He caught a cab into the city. The cab driver, a kind old man named Stephen, spent most of the time regaling Joe with tales of his wife, son, and granddaughter. Joe listened eagerly, pleased to talk with someone about something that didn’t have to do with war. When they arrived at the hotel (recommended by Stephen who had apparently worked there for fifteen years and was well known among the staff), the old man gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder and told him to take care before driving off to pick someone else up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stephen must have been well liked because as soon as Joe mentioned his name, a smile broke out on the desk clerk's face and she managed to find him a room on the first floor as he requested.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As soon as the door closed behind him, he kicked his shoes off and tossed his bag onto a chair. His tie and jacket followed soon after, and he plopped down on the bed with all intents and purposes of taking a nap as he had planned. However, his eyes stubbornly refused to stay closed. The question of whether or not to go home bounced back and forth in his head. He could be done with the whole rotten business of war and go home. But the people fighting in the Pacific didn’t get that option, why should he? It was an impossible question to answer, no matter how much he mulled it over. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After twenty minutes of tossing back and forth, he finally decided that trying to sleep was going to be a fruitless endeavor and got up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stood by the window for a few minutes, watching people walk by. An old couple, walking hand in hand. Four young boys, running past, throwing some sort of ball back and forth. A pair of women, both pushing a pram. They all seemed so normal, so peaceful. This was what he’d fought for, hadn’t he. So that people he didn’t know, who lived in an entire different country than him, could live lives in peace. This was why he needed to go fight in the Pacific. So that the people he <em> did </em> know, the people in his own country could live in peace. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nodded to himself, his mind finally made up. Yes, he would go fight in the Pacific. He would make the Japanese suffer for what they had done to his country and every young man who had been sent to combat because of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But now wasn’t the time to worry about that, he told himself. He’d get to the Pacific soon enough. For now, he had a seventy-two hour pass that he fully intended to appreciate every second of. What to do first? Sleeping was obviously a no-go. Next on his list was food, preferably a hot meal, though at this point he’d take anything that didn’t come from the army. The desk clerk had mentioned a nice café not too far from the hotel. He could get a hot drink there at least. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pulled his jacket back on, put on his tie, and headed out to chase down some food. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The café wasn’t too crowded and he managed to find himself a nice spot in the sun. He leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle weather. Without intending to, he must have fallen asleep because he startled awake a few minutes later to a woman’s voice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sir?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and focused on the waitress standing in front of him. “Oh, sorry. What were you saying?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She smiled at him softly. “I was asking what you wanted to eat, sir.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, what would you recommend?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We do have a lovely potato and watercress soup today. And the spam and egg sandwich is also good.” She smiled at him again, flashing white teeth. If he’d talked to her when he’d first arrived in England, he would have flirted with her, probably would have complimented her nicely manicured nails. But now he was too tired or just didn’t care enough. Or both. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll have the soup please. As hot as you can make it. And a coffee.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alright, sir. Anything else?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shook his head, and she smiled at him for a third time. “I’ll be right out with the coffee, sir”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He leaned back into his chair as she walked away, intending to close his eyes again when a pair of young boys ran up to him. Joe smiled at the pair. They looked like brothers, the younger one (who looked to be about four) was holding onto the leg of the older one (who looked to be about seven). Both of them had the same shaggy brown hair and bright blue eyes as well as a matching set of dimples.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey, mister,” the older one said, “I like your uniform.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The younger one ventured out from behind the other’s leg and reached out to touch the patch on his arm. The older one grabbed his hand and pulled it away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, Terry, remember Mum said we aren’t to touch the uniforms without permission.” He turned to Joe then. “Sorry, mister, Terry’s only four and so he doesn’t know a lot yet. He tries to touch all the patches on the uniforms even though Mum says not to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joe smiled. “That’s alright. He can touch them if he wants to.” He leaned down closer to Terry who had gotten his hand free from his brother’s hold. The little boy tentatively reached out and touched the patch on his arm, running his finger over the small stitches on the edges. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did you fight in the war, mister?” the older boy asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joe nodded. “I did.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did you kill anyone?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joe’s breath caught in his throat. It was a question asked in complete innocence and he knew the boy didn’t mean any harm by it, but it still rocked him to his core and left him speechless, not wanting to face the question or indeed knowing how to. “I-- um.” His heart was racing and he was suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was. His vision tunneled and he was sure he was about to pass out. The café which hadn’t seemed crowded a moment ago suddenly pressed in on him with uncomfortably closeness. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The older boy looked at him with concern. “Are you alright, mister.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joe’s throat was tight. His eyes watered from not blinking. “Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine, I just need to, uh--” His hands shook as he pushed Terry’s hands away from his shoulder. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why don’t you boys go play now. I think you’ve asked enough questions.” A new voice sounded behind Joe. The kids nodded, looking a little scared, and hurriedly ran back to where they’d been playing before. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Easy, son,” the voice continued. “You’re all right now.” A man sat down in the chair across from Joe. He was middle-aged, with a hint of grey just now beginning to creep into his hair. He was also missing his left arm, Joe realized, looking at the shirtsleeve which had been pinned up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, they just-- they asked if I’d-- and I didn’t know--”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t have to explain it to me. Just focus on breathing.” The man reached up to accept the coffee cup from the waitress who’d reappeared with the beverage. “Milk?” he asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, please.” As his heart rate returned to normal and his breathing slowed down, Joe was aware of the man gently placing the hot coffee cup in his hands. He took a sip and the hot liquid burned against his tongue, helping tether him to reality. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you,” he said. “Sorry for that, I just wasn’t expecting that question and it surprised me and, I don’t know, everything just--” he gestured with his hands, as if he could express with motions what his words couldn’t say. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Everything just got too overwhelming,” the man smiled, and on anyone else’s face it would have looked pitying, but on his face it looked supportive, like a silent <em> I understand </em> and <em> it’s okay </em>. “I know what that’s like. Something pushes you over the edge, even if you didn’t know you were on the edge, and suddenly even things you could normally handle become too much.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, just like that. Exactly like that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s your name, son?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Joe.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My name’s William, but all my friends call my Willie.” The man reached his remaining hand out for Joe to shake, which he did. ”How long did you serve, Joe?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Three years.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well I only served a couple months in the first war before I got this thing blown off.” Willie shook his left shoulder and the empty sleeve fluttered. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t be. It doesn’t hurt any longer, and my grandchildren find it very amusing. What I’m trying to say is, you’ve been through a lot, son. And what you’ve been through is a very unique experience. A lot of people aren’t going to understand. For what it’s worth, I don’t understand everything. Like I said, I was only there for a couple of months, and that was nothing compared to what went on in this war. But in those couple months, I saw myself enough of war to last me a lifetime. It’s a bloody and gruesome job, and it takes its toll. So just take it easy for a bit. In the end, you’ll get through it.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The lump that had formed in the back of Joe’s throat made it hard for him to speak, but he managed to get out, “how?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“First, find yourself a job. It’s not going to do you any good if you sit around all day doing nothing. So you find something you like, something you’re good at, and you work on that. And you find yourself a girl-- you got a girl?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He thought of Sam, of her rejection to his marriage proposal. “No, well, I mean, not really.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Willie looked at him quizzically. “<em>Not really</em>?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took a sip of coffee before answering. “I met a girl, a few months before they shipped us out to Africa. Her name’s Samantha, but she goes by Sam. She was--” he stopped to imagine her face and was saddened by the fact that it took him a few moments to remember it. “She was beautiful. And kind. And she made me happy, just being in the same room with her. I asked her to marry me, but she said no. Said it wasn’t the right timing and I wasn’t the right guy. I think her heart was still with someone else.”  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Willie’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. One of my buddies said I should, but I wasn’t planning on it.” He was saved the trouble of having to explain by the arrival of the waitress with his soup which was steaming. His mouth watered at the prospect of cold food. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Willie stood up. “Well whether you see this girl again or not isn’t my business. But in addition to finding yourself some work, you find yourself a woman you can settle down with. Someone who loves you and won’t get mad when you wake her up in the middle of the night. You find that woman, raise some kids with her, and work hard, and you’ll be alright. You hear me, son?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Joe nodded. “Thank you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Willie clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be just fine, son. You’ll get through it.” He smiled at Joe one more time before walking back to his table a few meters away and sitting down next to a middle-aged woman. He kissed her cheek and wrapped his one arm around her shoulders. They smiled fondly at each other. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time Joe’s soup had cooled down enough that he could eat it without burning his tongue off he knew what he was going to do. He finished his soup, paid the bill, and hailed a cab. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Where to?” asked the cab driver. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was too late for any sort of romantic relationship between him and Sam. Their time had passed. He knew that for sure. He had changed in the three years since he’d met her and he was sure she had to. If they hadn’t fit before, they certainly weren’t a good fit now. She wasn’t the one and that was okay. But she would be good company and a good listening ear. And it would be nice to see her again, even if it was just as friends. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The police station, please” he said.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He realized his mistake when the cab driver told him about the new police station. He’d assumed that Sam would still be working with the police, but the new building made the fact really sink in that three years had gone by since he’d last seen Sam. So much had changed and there was no guarantee that Sam would still be working with the police. She could have done anything in those three years-- taken a new job, moved, gotten married. And if she wasn’t working with the police anymore, he had no idea how to find her. </p><p> </p><p>That realization almost made him tell the cab driver to turn the cab around and take him back to the hotel, but they were almost to the new station and he had nothing else to do, so he stayed quiet. </p><p> </p><p>It must have been a slow Saturday because there was no one in the front part of the building except for Brooke the police sergeant and the poor constable he was berating. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean he got away?” Brooke was asking, his hands stretched out in disbelief. </p><p> </p><p>The constable had the dignity to look abashed. “He just… ran away.” </p><p> </p><p>Brooke’s voice climbed an octave. “He was missing a leg! How did you get outrun by a man with one leg?!” </p><p> </p><p>The constable’s face flushed an even brighter red. “Well he was quite adept at using those crutches. And he ran across a road right as a bus went by. I had to wait for it to pass and then there was this other car.” </p><p> </p><p>Brooke ran a hand over his face. “Well what are you waiting for? Go find him!” </p><p> </p><p>The constable nodded and left, looking only too eager to get out of the room. </p><p> </p><p>Just then Brooke looked up and noticed Joe, standing quietly a few feet away from the desk. Instantly his usual smile was back on his face. “Ah, sorry about that, sir. What can I do for you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m looking for a Miss Samantha Stewart.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ohh, yes, Miss Stewart! Well I’m sorry, sir, but she doesn’t work here anymore. But maybe I can pass on a message for you.” </p><p> </p><p>“Would you?” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course, sir. May I have your name?” Brooke uncapped a pen and hovered it over a piece of paper. </p><p> </p><p>“Joe Farnetti.”</p><p> </p><p>Brooke lowered the pen to paper and began to write, only to look up a second later. “Farnetti? That sounds familiar. Oh, yes, you’re one of those American chaps, aren’t you? You and Sam were friends.” </p><p> </p><p>He nodded. “That’s right.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well welcome back, sir.” </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you. Can you tell her that I’m on leave for seventy-two hours and I’d like to see her. I’m shipping off to the Pacific soon, and I want to say, well, I want to say goodbye.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’ll certainly pass on the message, but Mr. Foyle might know where she is if you want to check with him and maybe find her for yourself. I can give you his address if you’d like.” </p><p> </p><p>“If you think he wouldn’t mind.” </p><p> </p><p>Brooke pulled out another sheet of paper and jotted an address down. “I’m sure he won’t mind. Here you go.” He handed the note over. “Hope you find her, sir.” </p><p> </p><p>Joe took the note. “Me too. Thank you for the help.” </p><p> </p><p>“No problem at all. Better than one-legged gamblers making a run for it.” He scrunched his nose in repugnance. </p><p> </p><p>A small smile quirked at the edges of Joe’s mouth. “I hope you catch him, Brooke, good luck.” </p><p> </p><p>Brooke shook his head. “We’ll need all the luck we can get. Have a good day, sir.” </p><p> </p><p>“You too.”</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>The drive wasn’t far and the cab driver’s foot liked the gas pedal, so they arrived at the address in no time. </p><p> </p><p>Thanking the driver, Joe stepped out, checked the address, and walked up the stairs to ring the bell. He heard it sound inside, and then there were footsteps coming closer. However, it was not DCS Foyle who opened the door, but a young man who looked only a year or two older than Joe himself. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello?” </p><p> </p><p>He checked the address again before answering, but it was correct. “Um, I’m looking for DCS Foyle. A man at the police station said this was his address.” </p><p> </p><p>“It is,” the young man replied. “Though he’s no longer DCS Foyle any more than I am flight lieutenant.” A smile played on the edge of his face. </p><p> </p><p>“Not quite, Andrew.” Joe slid the paper with the address on it back in his pocket as the man he was looking for came to the door. “My successor has yet to show up, so unfortunately I’m still here.” He cocked an eye at Joe, as if searching his memory for where he’d seen him before. “Private Farnetti, right?” He gestured at the patch on Joe’s shoulder. “Or should I say second lieutenant.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s correct, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>Foyle opened the door wider and motioned inside. “Do come in.” </p><p> </p><p>Joe shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but I actually just had a question I was hoping you could answer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I’ll do my best.”<br/><br/></p><p>“Do you know where I can find Sam Stewart? I’ve got a seventy-two hour pass and I wanted to see her before I ship out again, only she’s not working at the police station anymore.” </p><p> </p><p>Foyle’s eyebrow went up slightly, but other than that his face remained the same. Before he could speak, Andrew, who’d remained by the door during the short conversation, spoke. </p><p> </p><p>“I was just about to go see her now; she needed help with something involving the roofing tile. You can come with me if you’d like.”</p><p> </p><p>Joe nodded. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course!” Andrew reached for his coat on the coat rack and slipped it on. “Bye, dad. Hopefully I won’t be too long, but don’t wait on supper for me.” </p><p> </p><p>Foyle nodded and then held his hand out for Joe to shake which he did. “Glad to have you back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, sir.” </p><p> </p><p>Andrew closed the door behind him and they walked away from the house. Andrew waved a hand, and a cab which had just dropped a woman off a few houses away turned around. </p><p> </p><p>“I was going to take my bike,” said Andrew, “but since there’s two of us, I think a cab would be preferable. I’m Andrew by the way.” He held out his hand. Joe shook it. </p><p> </p><p>“Joe. Pleasure to meet you. Does Sam live far away now?” </p><p> </p><p>“Only about an hour by car.” The cab arrived and they clambered into it. Andrew gave the driver the address. “She’s helping run a guest house now. Moved about a month ago.” The car started forward with a small jolt. </p><p> </p><p>There was an awkward silence for a moment as they started driving before Andrew asked, “So, how do you know Sam?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sam? Well, we met when I was first stationed here, three years ago. I asked her out a few times and eventually I got her to agree to go to a dance with me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Andrew’s demeanor changed then from welcoming to not hostile but almost bitter and Joe had a moment of realization. A month after the dance, Joe had finally gotten Sam to talk about the boyfriend she’d had when they’d first met. She hadn’t said much, just that he was a pilot with much more important things to do than try to work things out with her. She’d also mentioned his name-- Andrew. Which meant that the man sitting next to him--</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Shoot.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>This was going to be an awkward car ride. </p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t happen to, uh,” he ventured a little ill at ease, “to be her boyfriend a few years ago, did you?” </p><p> </p><p>Andrew looked at him sharply. “How’d you know that?”</p><p> </p><p>“She mentioned you once.”</p><p> </p><p>Andrew leaned back against the seat with a sigh and picked at a scab on his knuckle. “All bad things, I’m sure.”</p><p> </p><p>Joe shifted uncomfortably. “Well you did hurt her. But she’s a merciful person, I’m sure she’s forgiven you.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure she has,” Andrew whispered, though it seemed to be meant more for him than for Joe. “Look, let’s not talk about Sam right now. You said you were shipping out again?” </p><p> </p><p>Joe nodded. “My battalion’s getting sent to the Pacific.” </p><p> </p><p>“From one war to another,” said Andrew. “Goodness, I don’t think I could have done that. One war was enough for me. Are you sure you have to go?”</p><p><br/><br/>“Well <em> I </em> can technically go home. I’ve got enough points. But I’ve spent a lot of time fighting for your country, I need to go fight for my own now.” </p><p> </p><p>Andrew looked at him with an expression that said <em> You are absolutely crazy, but I respect what you’re doing. </em> “You’re telling me you have enough points that you can go home, but you’re staying?”</p><p> </p><p>Joe felt a spark of anger grow. Why was everyone so judgmental about his decision? He certainly wasn’t the only man to have stayed, not by a long shot. Yet everyone seemed to find it fit to judge his decision. “You got a problem with that?” he asked, more than a little defensive. </p><p> </p><p>Andrew held up a placating hand. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. You have to do what you feel is right. And I respect what you guys are doing, fighting two wars at once, I can’t even imagine. This one was hard enough. But… I don’t know. I guess I’ve just seen enough of war that I can’t imagine ever going back. And-- do you have any siblings?”</p><p> </p><p>“I had a little sister, but she died when I was eight. Scarlet fever.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your parents have already lost one child. For them to lose another one, their only one, that would hurt them beyond reckoning. Look, when I was still flying, I wrote letters home to the parents of all those who died. And the letters that were the hardest to write were the ones about parents’ last remaining children. Because those parents lost everything in one fell swoop. They didn’t get to hold their other children close because there were no other children. One of those boys who died, he was my friend. I saw how his mother grieved, and I can only imagine your mother would grieve the same way if she lost you in the Pacific. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not trying to tell you what to do. And I know that you have a responsibility to your country just as I had one to mine. But please, for the sake of your family, at least consider going home.” </p><p> </p><p>Joe didn’t say anything for a minute. Shame crept in as he realized that he hadn’t thought about his family in all of this, only himself. He felt a duty to fight Japan, but he also had a duty to his family. <br/><br/></p><p>Eventually, after he’d realized that this decision wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d though, he said simply, “Ok, I’ll think about it.” </p><p> </p><p>Andrew nodded. “I’m really not trying to force a decision on you. It’s just I’ve seen too many families broken because of this war. I don’t want to see any more.” </p><p> </p><p>They rode in silence for most of the rest of the trip. Joe stared out the window, not actually taking in any of the scenery, but merely staring out into space, taking in the solemn words Andrew had spoken and slowly digesting them. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What to do? What to do? What to do? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“We’re here.” Andrew’s words startled Joe out of his contemplation. A slightly dilapidated building rose in front of them as the cab pulled to a stop. </p><p> </p><p>Stepping out of the cab, Joe just stared at the house for a minute. It seemed impossible that inside was a woman he had once wanted to marry. It seemed like a memory from another life. </p><p> </p><p>“Has she changed?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>There was silence for a minute, then, “She cut her hair.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not exactly what I meant.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” said Andrew, a little sadly, “I think you’ll find it’s us who’ve changed.”</p><p> </p><p>The cab drove away, and they walked up to the door of the house in tandem. </p><p> </p><p>Andrew knocked. Footsteps sounded inside. The door opened. </p><p> </p><p>And there Sam stood, a smile on her face (accompanied by a smear of flour). She had indeed cut her hair and it suited her well. A yellow flower poked out from behind her ear. She looked older, but it was a growth that had come from maturity, not necessarily age. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you so much for coming, Andrew, I didn’t--” she stopped talking as she made eye contact with Joe. </p><p> </p><p>He smiled back at her. “Hello, Sam.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It probably wasn't Andrew's job to write letters home to the parents of the deceased, but I can see him taking that responsibility upon himself seeing as he was the flight lieutenant and in charge of them.</p><p>Next chapter should be up by Wednesday.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Possible Trigger Warning: Realistically graphic descriptions of war at the end of the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Hello, Sam.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a brief moment of silence where Sam seemed to be trying to comprehend what was in front of her. Her eyes got wide and she gasped. “Oh my goodness, Joe! You’re back!” She surprised him then by stepping forward and throwing her arms around him. He barely had enough time to register what was happening before she was stepping back, her cheeks slightly flushed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“When did you get in?” she asked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just today actually. The Captain gave me a seventy-two hour pass.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam smiled, then looked around and seemed to realize that they were still standing on the porch. “Sorry, please come in.” She opened the door wider, and Joe and Andrew stepped inside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before Sam or Joe could speak again, Andrew shifted beside them and said, “While you two talk, Sam, you said there was a problem with the--” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yes. Sorry, Andrew, I just wasn’t expecting Joe to be here, and he surprised me, and I forgot. But yes, a few shingles blew off last night. Adam said he’d fix it, but then he had to go off to Londen today to hash out some problem with the insurance and it doesn’t look like he’ll be back before tonight and it’s due to rain, so I was hoping you could fix it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem. Where’s your ladder?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In the shed in the back. There’s a hammer and nails back there too if you need them. And Adam left the shingles in the corner of the porch.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew nodded and moved toward the back, but stopped when Sam called his name.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Andrew, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner.” She turned to Joe. “You can stay too of course, that is if you don’t have anywhere else to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Joe smiled and shook his head. “I have nowhere else to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wonderful! Andrew?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew put on a pained smile and nodded. “It’d be my pleasure, Sam.” He turned quickly and walked to the back of the house. In the distance, Joe heard the back door open and close. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want a cup of tea?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Oh, yes please, if it’s no trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh none at all.” Sam led him into the parlor where two women sat talking in the corner. She poured them both a cup of tea and they sat down. Neither of them said anything at first, an awkwardness settling between them. Gone were the feelings of a cheerful reunion as they both seemed to remember on what terms they had left each other at three years ago. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After the quietness had stretched on too long to be called polite silence, Sam cleared her throat and said, “So, what have you been doing the past three years.” Almost as soon as the words had left her lips, she retracted them. “Sorry,” she said, “bad question. Um, what do you think you’ll do when you get back home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked away from her eyes. “I’m not actually going home yet. I’m headed to the Pacific. At least I think I am.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You think?” Sam asked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He put down his tea cup on the small side table, then clasped his hands together to try and hide how they were beginning to shake. “I don’t know. I thought my mind had been made up. See, I can go home if I want to. There’s this point system that’s been set up, and I have enough points to go home. But I decided to stay. Only-- only now I'm not sure if that was the right decision.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Sam, you don’t need to hear this.” He shook his head in disgust at himself. Why couldn’t he just let this whole issue go? Why did he have to bring it up in every conversation?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam rested her tea cup next to his. “You certainly don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I can listen if you want me to. I worked for SSAFA for a little while after the end of the war, so I might be able to help. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up from his hands and into her eyes which were filled with soft understanding and encouragement, and suddenly he was filled with love for her. Not a romantic love, but the kind of love found in deep friendship and in human connection. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Has anyone ever told you that you are a wonderful woman?” he said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She blushed and smiled at her lap for a moment, but when she looked back at him again, her face showed wariness. “Joe,” she said warningly, “if you’ve come back here looking for a relationship with me--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” He shook his hands in disagreement. “No, that’s not what I came here for. I promise. You and I, that wouldn’t work anymore. Maybe it never would have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He picked up his cup again and took a drink of tea and tried to ignore the two women in the corner who had stopped their conversation and were not so secretly listening in to his and Sam’s. Their stares made him uncomfortable. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> you come here?” Sam asked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He thought about that for a moment. Why had he come?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t really know,” he said after a moment. “I guess I just wanted to see a friendly face.” He exhaled, a sound escaping that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “It’s been a long three years.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two women in the corner must have gotten bored listening to them because they stood up and retired up the staircase. For the next few minutes, he and Sam sat there in silence again, but this time it was a peaceful silence, the kind that comes with thoughtful reflection. The sound of nailing could be heard up above. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” he said after a few minutes, “what have you been up to the last three years?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not much. Most of it I spent working for Mr. Foyle. Then, after the war’s end, when he didn’t need me anymore, I worked for a handful of people. SSAFA, an old lady named Olga, Sir Leonard--he was murdered--, and then I met Adam. He’d been left this guest house and now we’re trying to clean it up a bit.” She sighed. “I do feel I’ve been awfully unproductive.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true. You’ve managed to get this place up and running. Also, I’m sorry, did you say one of the people you worked for was murdered?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid so. It was most unfortunate, there was this whole debacle with the Soviets, and one of the boys who worked there as well--he was a POW--got caught up in it all. I still don’t know what happened to him. Not to mention I lost my job. Although it did lead me to meeting Adam, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Adam. He sounds nice. Are you two good friends?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I like to think so.” Sam looked over and caught the grin on his face. “Not like that! We’re very friendly, that’s all.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All the better I suppose. After all, you two are living under the same roof unwed and we all know where that can lead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Joe!” Sam’s face got red, and Joe couldn’t resist laughing. Up above, the sound of nailing stopped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Sam.” He held back another laugh. “I know you’re too honorable for that sort of thing.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I certainly hope so.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the entryway, the door opened, and Andrew stepped inside. “Well those shingles are on there nice and tight,” he said, walking into the parlor. “Though I don’t know if I can say the same for the rest of your roof. You’ve got a good number of holes up there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam sighed. “I know. Adam’s been meaning to try and fix some of them, but he hasn’t had the time, so we’ve just been making do.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I can’t fix all of it, but I might be able to patch up some of the bigger holes if you want.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sam smiled. “Thank you, Andrew. It wouldn’t be much, but I think I can pay you.” She started to get up but Andrew waved her down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely not. I’m doing it for a friend. You can pay me with a good meal tonight.” He disappeared back out the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of a good meal,” Sam said, “I need to finish making that bread.” She stood up. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a bad host, but I do need to get started on supper.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. Can I help?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you cook?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can make coffee and C-rations,” he said more confidently than perhaps he should have been.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sure I can find something for you to do.” He followed her as she left the parlor and entered the kitchen. In the middle of the counter a lump of dough laid forgotten. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t do too much harm kneading bread.” Sam gestured to the dough on the counter. Joe pushed up his sleeves and got to work kneading it while Sam bustled around the kitchen throwing a mixture of different ingredients into a bowl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After Sam had gathered everything she needed into the bowl and was in the midst of mixing it together, Joe brought up the question that had been on his mind ever since Andrew had murmured it under his breath in the car. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you forgiven Andrew yet? For the way he treated you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam stopped stirring and looked at him, mystified. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, only, he brought it up in the car. And I didn’t know whether you had or not. You don’t have to answer that though. It was a personal question. I shouldn’t have asked.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He brought it up?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Long story.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam went back to mixing. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. I think I have.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. Well, thank you for inviting me to dinner,” he said, eager to change the subject. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it’s not like I could just throw you into the street. And it’s good to see you again. I thought of writing once or twice, but I didn’t. I don’t know why, it just seemed--” she stopped mixing again and set the spoon down, struggling to find the right words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright, Sam. I understand.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The mixed and kneaded in silence for a minute. Then, as she took the fresh dough from her bowl and started kneading it, Sam spoke softly and hesitantly. “What was the war like?” she asked. “You don’t have to say anything. I know that people don’t like talking about it, but I just feel so small around all the soldiers. They’ve done so much and I don’t even know how to help them. I don’t even know what exactly it is they did.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was silent for a moment, not wanting to say anything, not wanting to think of anything, but the memories came anyway. Blood and dirt and screams and bullets. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was hell,” he said. His fingers clenched in the dough, but his voice was emotionless. “We were an engineering battalion, we weren’t supposed to be fighting. We were supposed to be building runways, pipelines, that sort of thing. But once you were in the thick of it, it didn’t matter. People were shooting at you. You grabbed a gun and shot back at them. It wasn’t so bad in Africa and Italy. Most of the time we were behind the front lines. But Normandy, that place was a hell hole. We were assigned to Omaha Beach. Our job was to land with the invasion force and establish an emergency landing strip. I saw two of my best friends die on that beach. I felt their blood on my skin. I killed men on that beach. I took up a rifle and I killed men, no, not men, boys. And it felt good. I enjoyed killing them because they were enjoying killing us. They were enjoying the men who lay on the beach with their intestines hanging out, crying for the mother, screaming, crying, wishing to go home.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He wasn’t gripping the dough anymore. It had all squeezed it’s way out of his hands, until he was clenching air. He was angry. Angry at Hitler, angry at God, angry at himself. Sam was looking at him, tears silently rolling down her face. Tears filled his own eyes, but he refused to let them fall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God bless your innocence, Sam. But you just can’t understand. I was there-- I was there and I still don’t understand. Because Omaha Beach wasn’t the worst of it. I’ve seen more. Awful things I couldn’t begin to comprehend myself, much less describe them to you. I-- I’ve seen the horrible things mankind can do to one another. I hope for your sake, you never understand war. Because to understand it is to have seen it, and to have seen it is the worst punishment you can give a man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam wiped the tears from her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a mere whisper.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them said anything else for a very long time. They worked in silence, kneading dough into loaves before moving on to a pot pie that was sadly lacking in meat. As they worked, the sound of Andrew nailing down shingles could be heard. Every time he heard the dull thud of a nail being put into place, it pierced Joe’s heart, as if he were back on Omaha beach, covered in the blood of his dying friends, lying fire on boys who called themselves men, and trying to ignore how broken he was becoming. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow. This chapter was... interesting. I don't quite know how I feel about it. Thoughts?</p>
<p>I've done some research about aviation engineering battalions, so how Joe describes his war experience is realistic I hope. </p>
<p>Next chapter should be out next Wednesday. I have no clue how many more chapters there is going to be. I'm thinking just one or two more, but we'll see.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Before they congregated for supper, Sam pulled Joe aside in the hallway. They hadn’t spoken for a couple hours ever since Joe’s outburst in the kitchen. He had been beginning to worry that that outburst was going to cost him their friendship, but Sam’s face showed nothing but apology. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for earlier,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought the subject up. I know you’ve been through a lot, and I wasn’t trying to seem disrespectful.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Sam,” he said, shaking his head, a sad smile playing on the edge of his lips, “you weren’t being disrespectful. You were curious, and it’s only natural that you’d wonder about it. I spoke rather out of turn I think. If anything, I was the one being disrespectful. Will you forgive me?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if you will forgive me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal.” He held out his hand, and Sam shook it. They both laughed quietly and turned to make their way to the dining room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Supper was a hearty affair, the company more so than the food (the continued rationing in England limited what could be served). One of the guests was a comedian and spent most of dinner entertaining the rest of the guests with his jokes. After they had eaten their fill and finished laughing at the comedian’s imitation of a frog attempting to catch a fly, the rest of the guests dispersed, some to the parlor, some to their beds, and Andrew and Joe announced their leave. While Andrew was busy jotting down a note to Adam about what he had fixed on the roof and what still needed work, Joe helped bring the dishes back into the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was wondering,” he said once the last plate had been placed by the sink, “do you want to have lunch with me tomorrow? We won’t discuss the war, we’ll just eat and talk about whatever you want to talk about. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, just a casual lunch. As friends.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam smiled. “It’d be my pleasure. There’s a hill near here we can walk to for a picnic if you’d like.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He smiled in return. “Sounds lovely. Shall I meet you here at a quarter past twelve?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be waiting!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They said goodbye a few minutes later. At Sam’s prompting, Andrew promised to come back again sometime for dinner (“And do bring your father. Adam’s been asking to meet him properly.”). He shook Sam’s hand rather stiffly, and Joe planted a friendly kiss on Sam’s cheek before departing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The walk to the bus wasn’t long, but the air outside was getting cold, so they walked quickly. After they’d gotten seated and the bus had started moving, Andrew turned to Joe. “You and Sam seemed to be getting along well.” Joe could detect a hint of bitterness in his tone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not like that,” he said quickly. “Besides, by the way you two were looking at each other this evening, I’d say you two seem to be getting along better than I am.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t say that,” Andrew said sharply. “It’s nothing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t look like nothing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it was.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They sat in silence for a minute. Then Joe asked a question that had been on his mind ever since they’d arrived at the guest house. “Did you not want to stay for supper? You didn’t look too pleased to be staying.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew sighed. “Well,” he said, “you’re obviously well versed in Sam and mine's relationship, so you know what happened between us. It would be easier for her if I just stayed away.” He turned to stare out the window, though the darkening sky made it hard to see much. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Easier for her or easier for you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew straightened and turned around, looking truly offended for the first time that day. “Excuse me?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Joe backed up a little, giving the man opposite him space. “Look, it’s obvious you’re ignoring her. And I don’t know, but it looks like to me that you’re ignoring her so it doesn’t hurt you. But if you really are doing it for her, do you really think you know what she wants? Either way, it seems a little selfish.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew’s lips tightened, and Joe backed up some more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, I’m not trying to say that you’re a selfish person. You seem like a good man with a good heart. But I think you should stop trying to control the situation and stop assuming what Sam wants and doesn’t want. You’re both your own people and you need to live your own lives. To me it looks like Sam is extending an olive branch, inviting you into her life, whether it’s as friends or something more, I don’t know. But I would take the peace offering, and just try to,” he sighed, “try to live without worrying about what’s going on between you two. In my experience, time takes care of these things. I don’t know,” he shrugged and sat back in his seat, wishing, not for the first time, that he was more eloquent with words. “That probably made no sense.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew relaxed back into his seat as well, anger dissipating. “Actually,” he said, “it makes more sense that you might think.” A minute later, he added, “thank you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, no problem.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two men spent the rest of the ride home chatting about nothing in particular, what California was like, how beautiful Hastings was in the fall, how peaceful the nights seemed now that there was no threat of bombings. By the time they arrived back in Hastings, Joe had begun to quite like Andrew Foyle. Once the talk about girls had gotten out of the way, they had found that they were not so different. Both single children, both readers, both fascinated with planes and the mechanics that went with it, both united by the bond that soldiers shared, whether they’d been in combat together or not. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They parted ways at the door of the hotel. As Joe passed through the lobby, looking forward to the warm bed awaiting him, the young woman who had checked him in at the beginning of the day called out to him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He halted in the middle of the room. “Yes?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re American, aren’t you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, miss.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you hear the announcement they made on the radio an hour ago.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He furrowed his brow in confusion. “No, miss, can’t say that I did.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A smile spread across the girl’s face. “Your president just issued Japan an ultimatum! He said they needed to surrender or they would face utter destruction. I thought you might like to know, seeing as you’re a soldier.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, miss,” he said, trying to not let his voice crack. He turned and walked out of the lobby, leaving the woman talking animatedly with a porter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sleep did not come as easily that night as he wanted it to, though his entire body felt tired to the bone. He laid up for many hours, staring at the plaster on the ceiling and wondering if he was to be part of this utter destruction. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In case anyone was wondering, the ultimatum talked about at the end is referencing the Potsdam Declaration. </p>
<p>This chapter was originally meant to be longer, but I was swamped with school work, so this is what you get. The next and final chapter (plus an epilogue) should be up by Monday.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And the final chapter (with the exception of the epilogue) is up!</p><p>Also, please note that Joe's attitude toward the Japanese in this chapter is in no way a reflection of my own attitude towards them.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joe did his best to put all thought of the Japanese out of his head as he got ready the next morning, a feat that was unsuccessful. Newfound worry about Japan’s impending doom and the part that he would play in it floated in the back of his mind all morning, exacerbated by all the news articles flashing information about the subject in bid, bold letters. </p><p> </p><p>For he had no doubt that the Japanese would not surrender. The Japanese were a proud people who had no respect for those who surrendered. He had heard the stories about the islands where only a small amount of Japanese soldiers had been captured, the rest dying or committing suicide in order to not be disgraced (as if their very existence wasn’t already a disgrace). On Tarawa, the same battle in which his cousin had died, he had heard that only seventeen Japanese soldiers had surrendered out of the 4,500 soldiers who had been on the island prior to the battle. </p><p> </p><p>So no, the Japanese would not surrender. They would fight on and Joe would be part of whatever utter destruction awaited them. </p><p> </p><p><em>Oh, wasn’t life grand.</em> </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head as he waited to board a bus to dispel his thoughts. He’d promised Sam there would be no more talk of war, and he intended to keep that promise. </p><p> </p><p>As the bus closed its doors and began to move, he glanced nervously at the sky where dark clouds were beginning to gather, the promise of rain coming with them. But the bus soon left the dreary clouds behind and entered into a rolling countryside of blue skies and warm sun. He settled back into his seat and closed his eyes, content to let the sun warm him while he sat there in a realm of unconsciousness somewhere between alertness and slumber. </p><p> </p><p>He must have fallen asleep at one point because he dreamed of home, of California’s warm skies and of his little cousin, Caroline, who had a fascination with rabbits and would often grab his hand, dragging him through their neighborhood, looking for the animal. It was a pleasant dream, and when he awoke much closer to Brighton than he had been when he closed his eyes, he had a smile on his face. </p><p> </p><p>Stretching and readjusting in his seat, he thought about Caroline. She wouldn’t be so little anymore; she’d be nearing the age of a teenager, growing into a young woman. Did she still love rabbits? Or had she moved on to something else?</p><p> </p><p>He thought so often of how he’d changed. But rarely, if ever, had he thought about how the people he loved had changed. When he got home, would his family be as foreign to him as he<br/>would be to them?</p><p> </p><p>From the front of the bus, the driver announced their arrival at Brighton. Stepping out of the bus, he did his best to remember the way from the bus stop to the guest house. He managed to find his way, making only one wrong turn. </p><p> </p><p>Arriving at the guest house, he took a minute to straighten his tie, and then he knocked. Instead of Sam, the door opened to reveal a young man he hadn’t seen yesterday. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello!” The young man held out his hand. “You must be Joe. I’m Adam.”</p><p><br/><br/>Joe shook his hand. He had a nice, firm grip. “Pleased to meet you.” </p><p> </p><p>“You too. Do come in, Sam’s almost ready.” He held the door open for Joe, who stepped in. Just as Adam was closing the door behind him, Sam came walking down the hall, basket in hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Ready, Sam?” Joe asked. </p><p> </p><p>“All present and correct,” she said before turning to Adam. “Don’t forget to-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll take care of the roof,” Adam said, smiling warmly. “And I called the insurance company this morning. Don’t worry about it, Sam, just have a lovely time.” </p><p> </p><p>“Alright, best of luck with your battle with the roof. Ready, Joe?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, mam.” He took the basket from Sam and closed the door behind them. </p><p> </p><p>“Troubles with the house?” he asked as they walked. </p><p> </p><p>“Always, it feels like. I didn’t know running a guest house was this much work. But it means so much to Adam, we can’t just give up.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”</p><p> </p><p>“I certainly hope so. I know Adam would be disappointed if it doesn’t work out.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hmm, yeah. Adam seems like a good man.” </p><p> </p><p>Sam smiled. “He is. Hard-working and very dedicated to the guest house. I’m glad you got to meet him before you had to go back to the base.”</p><p><br/><br/>“And you’re sure you two aren’t-”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure. We’re good friends, that’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>He raised one eyebrow, and she sighed. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s a complicated situation.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he said, “there seems to be many complicated situations as of late.” </p><p> </p><p>They changed the topic then to more cheerful things as they walked the rest of the way and began to eat. After they had finished their meal of sandwiches and lemonade, they settled back and laid in the grass, trying to spot shapes in the clouds. It was a lighthearted conversation, but for some reason Joe felt weighed down by the thoughts of earlier. It seemed pointless to be lying here, debating with Sam whether the cloud looked more like a lion or a whale when out in the Pacific Ocean his countrymen were dying. When in a couple weeks, he could be on a ship, sailing toward his potential demise. But of course he didn’t have to, if he didn’t want to. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Confound it all.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He sat up. “Sam,” he said hesitantly after she conceded that while she thought it looked like a lion, she could see why he thought it looked like a whale, “I know we said we wouldn’t bring anything about the war up again, but I’m afraid I find myself in a bit of a dilemma, and I was wondering if you could offer up some advice.”</p><p><br/><br/>Sam sat up as well. “I’ll do my best.”</p><p> </p><p>He hesitated, not sure where to start. </p><p> </p><p>“Is it about whether or not you should go fight the Japanese?” Sam asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he said, wondering how she could read him so well when he didn’t even know what he was feeling himself. “I thought I was so sure about my decision. But Edwards-he’s my captain-keeps encouraging me to go home. And then Andrew, he brought up my family. And I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t think.” He would have buried his face in his hands if it hadn’t been such a childish thing to do. </p><p> </p><p>“Well,” said Sam, “do you want to know what I think?” </p><p> </p><p>He nodded. “Yes, please.” </p><p> </p><p>“I think that what your captain said and what Andrew said are both valid points. But while you have a commitment to yourself and to your family, you also have a commitment to your country. And maybe part of honoring that commitment with yourself and your family is honoring your commitment to your country. And I think your first instinct was a good one. I’m not trying to give your path to you, but I think you already know which path you’re going to take. You have a good head on your shoulders, whatever decision you make, I’m sure it will be a good one.” </p><p> </p><p>“How do you always know what to say?” he asked, her words washing over him. This was the confirmation he had been unintentionally seeking ever since he’d arrived back in England. </p><p> </p><p>Sam gave a small laugh. “I don’t always. You should have heard me in court this one time. I completely butchered what I was going to say.” </p><p> </p><p>“Well this time, Sam, you did know what to say.”</p><p><br/><br/>“Maybe I did,” she said, grabbing his hand in hers, “But I think you would have known what to do even if I hadn’t.” </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>That evening, after he’d returned confidently from his lunch with Sam, he sat down at the small table in his room and penned a letter to his family. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dear Mother and Father, </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>I know you have been awaiting my reply to your last letter, and here it is: I have decided to stay and join the fight in the Pacific. Do not worry, Mother, I will take the utmost precautions to stay safe, as safe as you can be in combat. I fully intend to return to you, it may just be later than either of us would like. </p>
  <p>I can’t tell you where I am right now (even if I did, it’d get blacked out so there’s really no point), but I am safe and warm and have a full stomach. Johnny sends his regards and says thank you for the socks you sent with your last letter (his were in worse shape than mine, so I gave them to him). </p>
  <p>How are you doing? Also, how is Caroline, and does she still love rabbits? I can’t wait to get back home and have some of your cooking, Mother, but until then, I love you both. Eat a slice of apple pie for me. </p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Your loving son, </p>
  <p>Joe</p>
</blockquote><p> </p><p>He placed that letter in an envelope and set it on the mantle before pulling out another sheet of paper. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dearest Sam, </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>I hope that writing you a letter isn’t too forward of me, but I wanted to say thank you. For the good food and the even better company, but most of all for your kind words today. I know you said that I would have known what to do without you having said anything, but those words truly helped me more than you’ll know. </p>
  <p>I don’t know when we’ll ship out to the Pacific, but I hope it’s soon. Armed as I am with your words, those Japs won’t know what hit them. (Sorry if that was too crude, serving in the Army for three years gives you a certain sense of humor that’s not fit for civilized company.)</p>
  <p>You don’t have to write me back, but I like to think that from time to time you’ll remember me as I’ll always remember you. It was a pleasure getting to know you, Sam, and I hope and pray that wherever life takes you, it will be full of blessing. You deserve it. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>Your affectionate friend, </p>
  <p>Joe Farnetti</p>
</blockquote><p><br/>With both letters signed and sealed, he settled back into the chair and picked up his copy of <em> A Tree Grows in Brooklyn </em>. For the first time in a long while, with his decision made and the promise of a hot dinner later, he felt at peace.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I meant for this to go up yesterday, but I was busier than I thought I was going to be, so unfortunately, this is a day late. Sorry about that, but life happens sometimes.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Despite his plans, Joe Farnetti did not go on to fight in the Pacific. The war would end before he even got there. Instead, he returned to California and got a job as a construction worker. He married a beautiful young woman named Joyce a year after the end of the war and had a son and two daughters. He named one of his daughters Samantha. Five years after the end of the war, he reenlisted in the military and fought in the Korean War. His son would later go on to fight in the Vietnam War.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam and Joe remained good friends for the rest of their lives. They corresponded frequently until Joe’s death from lung cancer at the age of eighty-seven.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And we have reached the end! This story did not at all go the way I thought it would when I first started writing it, but I like where it went (I think). </p>
<p>Thank you all for reading!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I intended for this to go up a lot sooner and for it to be a lot shorter, but oh well, here you are. Enjoy what was supposed to be a one-shot about Sam and Joe that turned out to be multi-chapter story about mainly Joe.</p>
<p>Also, I know nothing about British cafes in the 40s so there's a good possibility how I described it isn't accurate. Just ignore that.  </p>
<p>Next chapter should hopefully be up by Thursday.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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